The Sixteen
by starshards
Summary: A set of four short stories about how separation, morning hair, technology, and festivals are but three of the many defining aspects of the relationship between Spain and Romano.  Spamano/RomaSpain .
1. Part 1: A Mobile Love Story

Three short stories that I produced whilst on the bus into work. I haven't written in ages, but my best friend has been rather inspiring. Her productivity encouraged me to get off my lazy arse and have a potter around in writing again.

This first short story was written before the great Blackberryocalypse. Irony.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Bee-bee-em: A Love Story<span>**

Romano was disgusted when his boss handed him his shiny, new Blackberry Bold. In fact, disgust was an understatement. It was something closer to disbelief, disdain and disapproval. He was distraught. His face said as much. Still, just to make his opinion on the matter all the more clear, his mouth said as much too.

"What the Hell is this?"

His boss only glanced up at him from his Playboy magazine. "It's a phone."

"I can see that!" Romano snapped, biting his tongue a moment later when he remembered that snapping at his boss was a little bit naughty. "I mean…I mean…why is it one of these? Why not…say…an iPhone?" He pushed. He really wanted an iPhone. iPhones had apps! Apps that played silly sounds, and made your pictures look artistic, and had some kind of angry birds and-

"Because iPhones are expensive. We're facing austerity measures here," he said as he signed off a cheque for his monthly all-model-pillow-fight-party. "Besides, it's for business. Blackberry is a business phone."

"Yeah but iPhones are more useful!" Romano argued. "What if…what if Veneziano or I get lost in the countryside some time? In the dark? iPhones have a torch app! And…and google maps! We could…find out where we were and then light our way home!"

His boss looked up from his magazine and fixed Romano with a level look. "You're a country. How could you ever get lost?"

Romano coloured a bit. "I…well…" Shaking his head, his boss went back to his reading material.

"You're not having an iPhone."

"Well what about an Andro-"

"No."

For a moment, Romano looked about ready to cry. For both of their dignity's sakes, he stormed out instead, phone clutched in his fist. It was hate, he decided, at first sight.

* * *

><p>A week later, anyone would have expected Romano to have come to some kind of resolution with his new phone. Romano would have expected Romano to have come to some kind of resolution with his new phone. As it was, his hatred had grown into abhorrence because he had discovered one major fault with the phone. The fault's name was Spain. To get technical, the fault's name was Spain-had-a-Blackberry-too-and-liked-to-fuck-Romano-off-every-waking-moment-with:<p>

_• Roma hi!_

_• Roma! Write back!_

_• ?_

_• Roma I know u got my messages cuz there's a little r next to the tick when its read :D_

_• Roma?_

_• Romano?_

_• Write back :(_

_R√- ffs! Go away!_

At first it had been funny to ignore him, but that novelty got old after the first five hundred irritating little noises had erupted from his phone like it had smartphone tourettes. Turning the sound off had helped, but then the fucking thing wouldn't stop fucking blinking at him, so he had to spend most of his time flipping it upside down. Then, of course, he kept missing important emails and messages from his government and would somehow end up in trouble for it.

Blackberry messenger was fast becoming the bane of his life.

_• Hey roma look at this pic i took!_

Romano had heard that once upon a time people had to accept files over Blackberry messenger. That, to him, sounded like a good idea, because it definitely wasn't the case any more.

_R√ Why have you sent me a picture of your fucking foot?_

_• No!_

_• Zoom in! :D_

_• I found a tiny baby frog and took a picture of it._

That was another thing that Romano hated about his piece of shit phone- the camera. How it was possible for a smartphone to have a worse camera than a five-year-old Nokia was beyond him.

Against his better judgement, he tried to zoom in anyway. After a minute of trying to search the grainy image for some stupid, tiny frog, he gave up and told Spain that he was never going to open it, so he shouldn't bother trying.

Spain had sent him some ugly hug emoticon in response.

* * *

><p>By the third week after being given his new phone, Romano had still not made his peace with it.<p>

The internet was slow, the apps were unimpressive, the games were boring, and the lack of a simple "add as contact" option were adding more and more fuel to the fire of 'I fucking hate this phone'.

The chance to redeem itself was only presented to him on the Friday of the third week. In the days prior, Romano had learnt first hand the joys of having all of your text messages, emails and instant messages all in one handy, little place. It was an absolute riot looking at his phone first thing in the morning and finding that he had 108 unread items to get through. What a fantastic experience it was to have his and his brother's joint email account on him at all times, filled full of emails addressed to Veneziano because he couldn't stop fucking signing up to things.

For that reason alone, regardless of all of the eighty or so justifications that Romano had listed to hate his new phone, Romano realised just how desperately bored he was on that Friday of the third week, because somehow he had ended up playing with it. He could at least admit to himself that checking the football results was slightly more interesting than listening to raging debates about the soaring costs of petrol. No one noticed, as he tapped away on it under the table, downcast eyes coupled with a bored expression on his face.

After only a couple of moments, it was blinking at him again.

_• Are u coming 2 mine tonight?_

Romano sighed, annoyed by the utterly inescapable, inane chatter that was fast becoming a common feature in his daily life.

_R√ Don't know if I feel like it._

Okay, so that was a lie. Suffering an evening with Spain after a boring day at work didn't seem so awful.

_• :(_

_• I miss u! I haven't seen u in nearly 3 weeks_

_R√ I don't miss you, bastard._

That might have been a lie too. Just a little one, of course.

_• You're so mean!_

_• I wanted 2 spend the evening with u_

_R√ Doing -what- exactly?_

_R√ Watching some crappy novella?_

_• Yeah! And drinking 2!_

_• And I'm rly horny and I want 2 have sex_

Romano couldn't help but blink at that, fingers pausing in where they were poised to tap out a reply.

Having spent many, many years with Spain, it was hardly a surprise any more when he readily blurted out exactly how he was feeling. Spain was a Mediterranean country- like himself- and neither of them were particularly prudish when it came to sex. They were both men. Sex was a given and done for enjoyment, with little ceremony.

It came as something of a shock to Romano when he felt his cheeks heat up. He supposed it was because he wasn't used to seeing it written down in black and blue. It was oddly…sexy…

Licking his lips, he set about responding.

_R√ Oh yeah? What exactly were you thinking about?_

_R√ Sex-wise._

_R√ Not the whole evening, because I know that you were about to do that._

_• :p_

_• idk_

_• I was thinking about giving u head after dinner maybe outside on the patio cuz its a lovely warm night :)_

Romano glanced up to see if anyone had noticed his lack of attention. Luckily no one seemed to even realise that he was there. Good. That would make the fact that he was red-faced and haunched over in his chair like he had bad constipation less noticeable.

_R√ Tell me exactly what you've been thinking about doing._

_R√ And don't fucking skimp on the details._

_• ?_

_• What like, how I'm gonna shove my hand between your legs and rub you slowly until I can feel you starting to respond?_

Romano couldn't stop his slow smirk if he tried.

_R√ Yes, bastard._

_R√ Like -that-_

Suddenly, Romano didn't hate his phone quite so much. In fact suddenly he was half tempted to say that he almost liked it.

* * *

><p>During the fourth week Romano's phone was stolen.<p>

Had it been two weeks before, Romano would have paid them to take it. Unfortunately for him, thanks to his shitty luck, it hadn't been and now every single blissfully familiar Blackberry bleep and beep and ding that he heard had him frantically going for his pocket.

He felt like he'd lost a limb. How was he supposed to know what Spain was doing every moment of the day? How else was he supposed to talk to him?

Sitting on the train was torture. Men, women, and teenagers, phones in hand, screens lit up in the comforting blue and white hues of Blackberry messenger. When Romano closed his eyes he could hear it…a sea of taps and clicks as rapid fingers danced over tiny keys.

The ache from the Blackberry-shaped hole in his heart was almost unbearable.

When his train reached its stop, he trudged dejectedly over towards the waving figure of his brother. He didn't even react when Veneziano threw his arms around him in a hug, staring off at the platform instead, sombre.

Veneziano immediately knew that something was very wrong. "Romano…" he said. "You're not even trying to push me off. What's happened?"

Romano bit his lip at his brother's concerned expression. He could hardly tell him the truth. "Nothing," he lied. "I'm just tired…"

Veneziano gave him an unusually discerning look, but let the matter drop, knowing better than to push his brother into talking about his feelings.

"Well…whatever it is -or isn't-" he added hastily. "I have something that might cheer you up just a little?"

Romano simply looked at him, a distant, dead-eyed look upon his face.

Veneziano winced, but went into his pocket nonetheless. From it he produced something small, shiny and black. "Here," he said, holding it out to Romano. "You left your phone at mine Tuesday when you left your jacket with me. I couldn't text you about it, so I held onto it for you 'til today."

Romano blinked, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. It was…a miracle. He almost didn't dare to breathe, lest it be a fantasy.

"M-my phone…" he whimpered. "My…"

He didn't even bother to finish his sentence, snatching up his phone and jamming it against his cheek, nuzzling it affectionately.

"Ah…" was all that Veneziano could say. "That's…wow," he laughed. "I had no idea that you loved your phone so much."

"I don't!" Romano insisted, still nuzzling it. "It's a piece of crap. I just need it to be in touch with people."

Veneziano smiled, glad to see his brother so happy. "Yeah. You've been getting a lot of messages. You're really popular, Romano."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, it made Romano pause in his affectionate reunion with his phone. "Popular..?" Romano had been called many things in his life. Popular had never been one of them. "I-it's probably just Spain," he shrugged, trying to look and sound nonchalant.

Veneziano didn't believe him for a moment, and simply carried on smiling at him. "Isn't technology amazing? We used to have to wait weeks to get messages by carrier pigeons, and now we can talk all day and night as if we're next to each other."

Romano snorted, giving him a dirty look. "Stop trying to be poignant. It makes you sound stupid." With that, he tossed his head and stomped off towards the car.

Veneziano carried on smiling, not failing to notice the pink on his brother's cheeks.

He knew that it wasn't the phone that Romano loved. He knew that what Romano loved was what his phone allowed him to do. What this amazing new technology enabled everyone to do. Deep down, Romano probably knew that too.

Not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

"Are you coming, stupid?" Romano called, head down as he quickly tapped out message after message, deep in conversation.

Veneziano couldn't help but laugh.


	2. Part 2: Hasta Luego

I wanted to do a somewhat happier take on Romano growing up and claiming independence. Of course, I think that Spain would be devestated, but as a nation he knows that nothing lasts forever. He's seen empires crumble and knows Romano well enough to have spotted that he was very much on the verge of becoming something new.

"Hasta Luego"- "See you later". I thought that it was less heartbreaking than a goodbye and spoke of a silent promise to see each other again.

* * *

><p><strong>Hasta Luego<strong>

Spain is smiling.

"Did you hear me, bastard? I'm leaving."

Spain smiles on. Of course he heard him. He always listens to what Romano says, even if most of the time it's cute nonsense. He's an attentive boss, after all. More so now that he's not the boss of very many people any more.

"Oi!" Romano is irritated now, upset. Spain knows that it took a lot of courage for him to approach his boss in such a way, saying such words. He's impressed, to tell the truth. Romano's always been such a coward. "Wh…why are you smiling! Don't you understand what I'm saying?"

He understands what Romano has said. Understands what he is implying. Spain's a little oblivious, not ignorant. He's seen Romano, on sunny days out in the fields, and on quiet evenings in the parlour. He's seen the way he would straighten suddenly, wincing and rubbing at a flare of pain somewhere on his body. He's seen the way that he would snatch messages from pilfered carrier pigeons, eyes shifting as he poured over them, gleaming with emotion. He's seen him praying for his people, and for their battle for recognition.

Spain carries on smiling at him. Smiles at his little boy who is no longer his, nor a little boy. It's a sad thought, but he accepts it with dignified resignation. Nothing lasts forever, after all. As a nation, he knows that better than any human ever could.

"Congratulations, Romano…" He says.

Romano looks dumbfounded. His cheeks are red with nerves, and his eyes are shining with tears of what could be regret (although Spain knows that it's more likely to be stress, but it's still nice to hope). "I…what?" He says, unable to come back with anything more articulate.

"Boss is very proud. You've become a good man. You're still a bit of a coward though, and so is Ita. Make sure that you two don't get taken advantage of, or bullied-"

"I won't!" Romano interjects. His voice is shaky, but Spain can't tell if he's flattered or insulted. "B-besides…you're the one who always bullies me."

They both know that's a lie. It helps Spain to keep smiling though, so he doesn't tease him for it. "You'll visit me won't you? Remember to set Boss up with some favourable trade, yeah?"

"I…" Romano looks flustered. Maybe this wasn't the fight and the tears that he expected. Spain indulgently thinks that Romano might be disappointed by that. It's too bad for him that Spain's always liked to surprise him. "Well I…suppose…so."

Spain nods. "How much of my stuff are you taking? I know what your sticky fingers are like," He teases.

Romano looks indignant at that. "Piss off! I'm taking what's mine. If you gave it to me then its your own fault!" He pouts, cheeks puffing childishly.

"You have an odd interpretation of the word 'gave'," he laughs.

Romano looks adorably grumpy in response. "You owe it to me. For all of my years of slavery," he says.

They both know that's a lie. Spain hasn't really been his boss for quite some time now. Living together had been more a matter of convenience, or reassuring comfort while Romano's position as a budding nation had been fragile.

Romano hadn't needed to come to him to declare independence at all. He was bound to Spain by little more than cousins in the monarchy. He could have just wordlessly gone in the night, and Spain couldn't've stopped him with anything short of an invasion.

Instead Romano came to him. Despite knowing that he may try to stop him, despite knowing that it could have descended into war, despite knowing that Spain's opinion and love for him could be tarnished, despite it being terrifying…he had still come to him, asking for his approval.

It's the reason why Spain's been able to smile, even though he feels unbearably sad.

Romano clears his throat, looking embarrassed and a little afraid. "Won't…won't you miss me at all..?"

Spain shakes his head. For a moment, Romano looks ready to burst into tears. "How will I miss you?" Spain goes on. "I'm going to be seeing you all the time! We've got relations to set up, and trade, and royal marriages to arrange!"

They both know that Spain's trying to assure Romano. Spain knows that he's trying to assure both of them.

Romano gives him a feeble smile and Spain feels proud that it seems to have worked. "Yeah," he says. "I already knew that you'd be annoying. I won't be able to get rid of you."

Spain shakes his head, still smiling. "Not yet."

Romano tries not to look pleased about that, and Spain -for once- pretends not to notice. He leaves not long after, leaving his and Spain's home of hundreds of years in an ornate horse-drawn carriage.

Spain returns inside after a long time, his smile still curving across his lips. The house is sad now, and a little lonely, but it is full of good memories. He's going to miss Romano terribly. He hopes that Romano will miss him just a little too, but he wasn't willing to allow him to have a tearful goodbye. He has no regrets about their time together. He's seen Romano grow from a bratty, useless child to a proud adult with strong views and determination. To him, that's worth smiling about.

He hopes that Romano feels similarly as he speeds away to his new home s. He even dares to hope that he's already planning their first official meeting to establish relations between their nations.

Despite his stinging eyes, Spain grins at the thought.

He's looking forward to this new future.


	3. Part 3: Favourite

Incredibly short, but I wanted to put into writing a little piece about how _every_ Romano is Spain's favourite Romano.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Favourite<span>**

Morning-Romano was one of Spain's favourite Romanos.

There was something about that bird-nest hair before it was brushed, and pristine, and perfect. In Spain's eyes, wild, untamed locks, with a single errant curl standing defiantly out from the tangles suited him. It suited him as perfectly well as his tidy, styled-with-a-casual-slightly-sweeping-fringe-hair did.

There was something about his sleep-flushed cheeks too. It was not the (incredibly cute, cute, cuuuuute) tomato coloured blush that coated his cheeks when he was angry, or upset, or insulted, or embarrassed, or shy, or any of the degrees in between. Rather, it was a soft pink, barely noticeable to anything but the most discerning eye. It dusted his cheeks pleasantly, adding a gorgeous splash of subtle colour to his already gorgeous olive skin.

There was most definitely something about his unguarded expression, too dozy to snap into his usual blustery façade. In those first lazy minutes after waking up, his eyes were always soft with undisguised contentment, shadowed by luxurious dark lashes. He rarely smiled, but there was always a definite lift to the corners of his eyes that said more than enough.

There was absolutely something in the way that he would stumble out of bed, garbling about showers and coffee and breakfast, an ador—

"Oi! What the Hell are you staring at, creep?" Romano frowns, looking vaguely disgusted.

Spain smiles. "You," he says, straightforward as ever.

"Urgh. Whatever," Romano rolls his eyes, far too used to the idiot to argue. Instead he folds his arms, puffing his cheeks out. Spain can't help but notice that his cheeks are a delightful tomato-red.

It makes him grin.

This Romano is one Spain's favourite Romanos too.


	4. Part 4: Salt of the Earth

Okay, this one was written for a prompt on tumblr, but I consider it to fit vaguely with the overarching theme!

* * *

><p>"I swear, it feels like I'm in England during a football tournament," Romano muttered under his breath as he was nearly hit in the face by another George cross being brandished by a tall gentleman dressed in silver armour. He scowled at the soft stir of breeze that it caused and reached up to touch his fringe. "My hair had better not be messed up, Spain!" He huffed, turning to Spain with a scowl.<p>

Spain smiled at him, mouth moving with words that were stolen away by deafening boom of another firework exploding above them.

"What?" Romano shouted back, ears ringing. When Spain spoke again, his mouth moved to the sound of a tolling bell. "Forget it!" Romano spat, shaking his head.

They were in Alcoy for the Romano-had-long-since-stopped-counting time, attending the annual celebration of the festival of Moors and Christians. It was an animated, colourful and noisy affair in a way that was so typical of Spain. Too fucking noisy for Romano's tastes, but Spain wasn't exactly one would call a firm believer in the sanctity of silence.

Every year Spain would spin some bullshit or other about celebrating in a major part of his culture. Every year Romano would scoff and tell him that all he really wanted to do was have an excuse to get drunk and dance around in the streets yell-singing. Every year Spain would deny it and point out that that he didn't need excuses to do that.

As usual, Romano had conceded that point. He didn't understand why Spain was still so excited about celebrating victory over the Moors though. It had been a fair few hundred years. Romano really thought that Spain should have tried getting over it by now. Still, he thought as a group of particularly pretty girls dressed in historical Middle Eastern robes danced past him, the festival was not without its perks.

A hand on his arm distracted him from his very casual Italian appreciation of feminine charms. He turned reluctantly back to Spain, frowning in question.

Spain inclined his head, lifting his hand in an imitation of drinking. Romano nodded, following him through the crowd, people parting for them without thought, touched by the almost supernatural air around them without the slightest hint of realisation.

The bar Spain led them to was blissfully quieter, booms and bells dulled by whitened walls. Romano headed upstairs, procuring a table by the window. Finally able to hear himself think, he lifted an arm to the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watched the procession pass below him.

"You always liked to be above the crowds," Spain said as he slipped into the chair opposite. "I think it's because you've always been a pompous little prince at heart who likes to watch his minions scurry around for him."

Romano snorted at Spain's grin, taking the beer that was offered and taking a slug, cool amber soothing his parched throat. "If you're on about how I used to enjoy watching _you_ scurry around on my behalf then yes, I enjoyed that and continue to do so."

"Mean!" Spain said, though he laughed around it.

They fell into quiet, both watching the parade beneath them and sipping their beers in the sort of quiet calm that falls on men who have no real concept of time in human terms. Spain broke it from time to time, of course, interjecting with redundant history lessons that he had told Romano of time after time.

"Hey," Romano said after another lull of silence. If Spain was surprised by Romano's breach of the comfortable silence between them he didn't seem it, tilting his head and smiling, attention caught. "How come you never take part?"

"Hmm? In what way?" Spain asked.

"With the parade? For all the years we've been doing this, I don't think I've ever seen you take part." Romano was surprised that the thought had never even occurred to him. He was even more surprised that Spain was taking his question seriously, sitting back and thinking, expression oddly sombre.

"Well…to tell the truth, it's because I'd have to take sides," he answered.

"Take sides? As in Moor or Christian?"

Spain nodded. "Exactly," he said.

Struck by the unobvious answer, Romano's brow creased in confusion. "But…it's a clear choice isn't it? The Christians won, and you're Catholic…technically…so just be a Christian?"

Spain smiled in response. It was a smile that Romano had only seen few times in all of his years with his former boss, as old as the hills and the rivers that shaped the land, and the history that had been lived upon it. "How could I choose one part of myself over the other?" He leant a bit closer then, voice softening. "People may come and they may go. They may flee from threat, or invade and conquer until there's almost nothing left. They can wound or heal, or change what they find for better or worse, but no matter who they are, or where they come from, they will all leave a piece of themselves. They become a part of the land and the history and the nation. You should know better than most, Romano."

Romano sat in stunned silence for a moment, the words resonating deep within him. His stomach tightened as he stared at the inhuman being sat across from him, his equal in responsibility and ordination.

He was on his feet a moment later, growling "Shut up," as he reached across and seized Spain by the shirt, dragging him forwards and up into an almost violent smash of lips.

"Nuh?" Spain managed once Romano had relented slightly, eyes wide with astonishment.

"You're fuckin' weird when you're serious like that. Stop it," Romano grunted, leaning in again to snatch another kiss.

He pulled away with a startled gasp when their faces lit up in pink and a boom smashed through the silence. Dropping Spain without a second thought, he pressed his face to the glass and shouted a few obscenities at the morons who had released a firework in a contained environment.

"Hey, Roma?" Spain interrupted, cheeks still stained pink.

"What?" Romano snapped, sitting back down and folding his arms.

Spain grinned, eyes alight with amusement. "I just saw fireworks."

It took Romano a few moments to understand, flushing bright red when the words had sunk in. "Shut up! Jesus, you're so damned sappy it makes me want to puke," he grumbled. "C'mon. Stop sitting there grinning like a moron and finish your beer, 'cause we're going out there and we're going to light some fireworks and with any luck, we'll set fire to a few fuckin' gardens along the way."

Spain threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Roma," he grinned. "I'll happily spend the whole day with you, but I don't need fireworks to see fireworks when you're around."

Romano gagged in response.


End file.
